


The Ruse

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Gabriel (Good Omens), Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Public Sex, Whumptober 2020, Wing Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: Aziraphale has kept up an Arrangement with his demon associate, Gabriel, for millennia. He has no been found out, and turns to Gabriel for help. Gabriel offers to buy them some time by putting on a show in Hell. Aziraphale should have pressed more about what the details of the show would be.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	The Ruse

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Whumptober 2020 Days 1-3, so please mind the tags!
>
>> No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME  
> Waking Up Restrained | **Shackled** | Hanging   
> No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY   
> “Pick Who Dies” | **Collars** | Kidnapped  
> No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY  
>  **Manhandled** | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint
> 
> It is also based on [this kink prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2768985), but it is not a fill because the prompt is about Crowley and this is not
> 
> Um so this is for a Reverse Omens universe i've been toying with (where Crowley is an angel and Gabriel is a Demon), and it's kind of weird that this is the first thing I'm posting for this but oh well? so there are for sure reasons why Crowley and Gabriel are going by their canon names, but it felt weird to like Get Into That in this fic which is deffo about other stuff

“We’ll need to buy ourselves some time,” Gabriel said, looking at him, eyes black and unblinking, like always. His mouth was sharp, but he was still smiling. Aziraphale appreciated the levity but could not quite share in it. He wrung his hands instead, checking out the window every 30 seconds for signs that someone was coming to drag him to Heaven. Aziraphale had been caught, after all. They had been _caught_. Crowley had said as much. 

“How do you propose we do that?” Aziraphale asked, instead of the much more desperate _where can we even go?_ rattling inside of him.

“If I make it seem like I’ve captured you,” Gabriel said, crossing his legs, feet so misshapen and large that they might have given him away if people were more observant. Men his size wore big shoes, anyway. No one stared—except Aziraphale did now, at how his clawed toes pushed against the leather of the toe cap, deforming the shape. He hadn’t seen his feet since Eden, and the thought of them reminded Aziraphale that Gabriel was not an angel and therefore not who he was supposed to trust. He was still talking. “I can tell them that I want some time to enjoy my spoils.” 

Aziraphale grimaced at him, only mildly disturbed. Gabriel was a _demon_. Aziraphale had become used to him saying such things. “Really, now,” he huffed. He left out that Gabriel was quite a bit more handsome, and that they both knew it, and everydemon would likely wonder what enjoyment one could get from such a frumpy, old thing. 

“That’ll give us some time to ward up some place or whatever. By the time your twiggy, twitchy boss tells anyone, we’ll be on Easy Street.”

“You sound so sure.” 

“What’s your plan, sunshine?” he asked, head cocking in a quick jerk that betrayed his fowlishness. 

Aziraphale tried to think of one while he checked out the window again. “I don’t have one,” he admitted. “Fine. We’ll do your ruse.” 

“You’ll have to come to Hell with me,” Gabriel reminded him.

“Yes, I’m aware.” It was probably why everything in Aziraphale stood on edge when looking at Gabriel. Why his eyes caught on every mark of the Devil and he had to work to remind himself that Gabriel was _safe_.

“I’ll have to chain you up,” Gabriel continued, leaning in. Something about his tone made Aziraphale’s skin crawl—but maybe in a good way. He couldn’t be sure. “Bind your powers to me.” 

“What if I just promise not to use a miracle?” Aziraphale asked. “We could just pretend.” 

Gabriel shrugged. “They’ll know.” He didn’t elaborate further. 

Aziraphale hesitated, his stomach turning. “That makes sense.” 

“Or you can get caught and we can be discorporated and imprisoned, at best,” Gabriel said. 

“No,” Aziraphale shut his eyes very tight at the thought. “I know.” 

“Hey,” Gabriel said, and Aziraphale peeked at him. He looked serious and handsome and so caring, like he didn’t really think this was all one big joke. “I won’t let anyone touch you. I promise. And that’s a promise from a demon.” He grinned, but it was still tender. “That’s gotta be worth something. Smile for me, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale, queasy, did his best.

* * *

Gabriel shackled him but not before having Aziraphale write his name—his true one that was unspeakable, used only by his Mother and therefore unused—on a leather collar. This was etched beside sigils Gabriel had made himself. Gabriel slipped the stiff material around Aziraphale’s neck and tugged it snug. 

“It’s,” Azriaphale winced, his head rushing a little as the sound of the street outside the window became very loud. “A little tight.” He tried to work a finger between his neck and the leather and couldn’t. 

“Oh, it has to be,” Gabriel explained, smiling in sympathy, but also maybe amusement. It was hard for Aziraphale to tell because everything around him suddenly had an overwhelming smell, or was too loud, or too bright. Someone shouted across the street, and a car honked, and Aziraphale nearly jumped. 

“So,” he said, pulling at the worn down hem of his vest. “We go Down There, you show me off, and then we find somewhere we can hide.” 

Gabriel connected a chain lead to the collar and gave him a sharp pull. Aziraphale choked, mostly out of surprise, and glared. “Yeah,” he finally said, dropping the leash to strut around, admiring his work. “Something like that.” 

“And you’ll make sure no harm comes to me,” Aziraphale’s voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. He could feel his body beginning to sweat, but truthfully he felt a little frozen.

“I might have to push you around a bit, just for show. I’ll probably have to say some things that’ll hurt your feelings. I’ll let other demons do that too, and they’ll want to because they can’t touch. But you can handle that, can’t you?” Gabriel had stopped in front of him, staring him down. He wasn’t even that much taller than Aziraphale; he was just so broad. And his posture! Aziraphale figured it had to be his posture, which truly was rod straight and unwavering. 

“I’ll have to,” he allowed. He wanted Gabriel to put his hands on his shoulders and bracket him in, like he’d done in the past when he wanted all of Aziraphale’s attention but didn’t quite have it. It would be nice to be so consumed by him, Aziraphale thought. 

Instead Gabriel grinned, his mouth splitting his face in half. He looked cold and cruel, but Aziraphale knew that was just how demons looked sometimes.

* * *

The first demon they saw in Hell was some sort of front desk receptionist, right off of the escalator. They were oozy and slimy, and they had more teeth than Aziraphale felt anyone ought to. They showed off as many as they could when they saw Gabriel with his guest. “Is that your angel, Chauntecleer?” they croaked, teasing. 

“You called ahead?” Aziraphale whispered, after Gabriel had threatened the demon for use of his old name. They seemed to take it in stride, but they also didn’t do it again. 

“Shut up, or I’ll gag you.” 

Aziraphale tutted, but allowed Gabriel to walk ahead of him. Truly, the escalator down hadn’t been awful, and the room they were currently in had no smell and was warm enough. And although Gabriel had the leash wrapped around his fist, his other hand was around the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, keeping him close and guiding him as they waited for the receptionist to buzz them in. 

Quickly, Aziraphale realized that Gabriel likely had such a strong grip on him to keep him from bolting the moment the doors opened. The smell of earth wasn’t so bad, but there was an afternote of rot which ruined every inhale and left a terrible taste in the mouth. And it was noisy—noisier than the street had been—everyone shuffling, chains rattling, and someone screaming in the distance. Gabriel shoved Aziraphale inside, and Aziraphale had to forgive him because there was no other way he’d have entered the room. His entire body had locked up. 

“Come on,” Gabriel said, letting go of him and tugging him along by the lead that was starting to cut into his sensitive neck. “I’m a Duke, so I’ll need to show you off in the lounge.” 

That was promising, at least, because a lounge surely had to be nicer than all of this. Aziraphale could now see that the black walls were also slick with something rancid. None of the people shambling forward—and he couldn’t tell if they were demons or humans—paid them any attention, even when Gabriel started pushing them out of the way, dragging Aziraphale along behind him. Gabriel’s leather shoes were gone, and his rooster feet kept him off the ground enough to keep his suit legs clean from the muck on the ground. Aziraphale’s trouser cuffs were not so lucky.

“Gabriel, slow down,” Aziraphale hissed, getting angry. He grabbed the leash and dug his heels in, giving it a solid yank. Gabriel rounded on him, looking confused. “You’re going too fast, and I need—I need a _moment_. It’s so dreadful Down Here, and I — ” 

He heard the strike before he felt it. It was loud enough that the people shuffling around them were momentarily stopped, blearily glancing at them before starting to move again. Aziraphale jolted a step back, his hand coming up to brush over his stung cheek, only for him to remember that his wrists were cuffed together. 

“You hit me,” he said, feeling his anger rise and, with nowhere to go, join the vibration of nerves that were now ravaging through him. 

“You’ll call me Duke,” Gabriel stated, shaking out his hand. “Or Master.” 

Aziraphale looked around, like someone might laugh along with him. He looked back at Gabriel who was watching him, coolly. “Yes, fine, _Duke_ , but please can we — ”

“This is the last time I’m going to warn you to be quiet.” His voice was soft, and there was something intimate about it, how he moved a little closer to say it. He brushed Aziraphale’s hand aside and tapped over his cheek as a reminder. And Aziraphale did remember; Gabriel had to be cruel, and this was for the best. Aziraphale just needed to play along. He wondered if a gag might be better, because he could feel his frantic energy building up, wanting to come out somehow. But the cuffs were starting to feel unbearable, and the collar, so he shut his mouth. 

The Dukes’ Lounge was actually not that much nicer than the long hallways, but there were at least less people. It was a lounge in that there were places to sit and some sort of refreshments being served. There were two dying, potted plants for ambiance, and a record player which repeated the same 10 seconds of a song. A few demons were lingering, growling at each other in what must have been small talk. 

The demon behind the bar—one of the disposable ones Aziraphale had started to spot once his initial panic about being Down Here had eased—poured a murky yellow-brown drink into a chipped pint glass and then handed it to a very pale, black-eyed demon. Aziraphale hoped it was beer. 

He briefly wished he’d brought a notebook, because he’d never thought Hell would be like _this_ , and he was sure Crowley would be interested in hearing. Aziraphale was probably the only angel who had ever been in Hell before. But it was hard to forget that he was only there for the same reason that he would never talk to Crowley again. 

“Where is everybody?” Gabriel boomed, startling Aziraphale. 

The pale haired demon lurked over, squirting his eyes at Aziraphale, like he was some sort of illusion. The demon had a frog on his head, and Aziraphale was briefly charmed before he realized he probably wasn’t supposed to be. 

“Hastur,” Gabriel said, posture lax even when the demon leaned right into Aziraphale’s face and sniffed.

“It smells like fear and fairy piss,” Hastur snarled. “What is this?” 

“This?” Gabriel laughed, always having appreciated some theatricality. “Come on, buddy!” His big hand curled around Aziraphale’s bicep and jostled him a bit, like he was a permitting piece of evidence to be waved in disbelieving demons’ faces. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what _this_ is.” 

“Smells like an angel,” the demon said. He raised a hand, moving in toward Aziraphale’s face, his clean hair. “ _Looks_ like an angel.” 

Gabriel smacked the hand down. “ _My_ angel,” he said. “My prisoner.” 

By this point, other Dukes and most disrespected of Hell’s ranks had gathered around. More demons trickled in, filling the lounge with stench and noise and heat. Aziraphale inched closer to Gabriel, heart hiccuping into his throat, useless and heavy. 

“Aw,” another demon cooed, gruff and mean. The chameleon on his head had just caught a bug and was still breaking the buzzing thing down in its mouth. “You’ve gotten him well-trained after all this time. He _likes_ you,” and that got everyone laughing, including Gabriel. 

“It’s not hard to trick an angel into liking you, if you’re willing to wait,” Gabriel boasted, self-important, like this was some sort of demonstration. He looked at Aziraphale, and gave him a little nudge. “Huh? Only took a few millennia to get you eating out of my hand. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Aziraphale’s face burned, because he _had_ eaten out of Gabriel’s palm, just four millennia into their acquaintance, in an oyster house in Rome. Gabriel had shucked the oyster and brought it to Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale had felt touched. Wooed. But he knew this was all pretend; Gabriel had warned him he’d have to say things that hurt. 

“Look at him! He’s turning pink!” Hastur marveled, squeaky and hysterical. 

“Normally I have to dip someone in hot water to get them looking like that,” the other demon said. 

“He’s blushing,” Gabriel explained. “He does it all the time, despite being the most libertine deviant I’ve ever met.” 

That just made Aziraphale redder.

“Look at that,” now a third demon growled, clearly another Duke, with spikes all over their face and body. “I want to lick it off his cheek.” More and more demons were starting to press in around them, getting closer.

“Too bad,” Gabriel said, giving the closest one a sharp shove. “I’m not sharing. After all, I was the one who tricked him to come Down Here. But I don’t mind showing him off.” 

And in the now-crowded room, Gabriel made a path for them to get up on the little raised platform that had a broken Casio keyboard and an ugly shag carpet. The demons didn’t follow them up, but Aziraphale didn’t notice because his eyes had landed on a brownish stain on the carpet and was trying, with rising horror, to determine if it was blood or fecal matter. 

Gabriel started to remove Aziraphale’s jacket, vest, and bowtie; all the while, Aziraphale tried to remember that this was what they had planned, that Gabriel hadn’t tricked him, that Gabriel had as much to lose if they failed. Still when Gabriel ripped his vest to get it off without removing the shackles, Aziraphale’s nerves bubbled up and he snapped. 

“You could have used a miracle!” he hissed. 

“Still got some fight in him!” someone from one of the benches shouted. “You need help with that, Chauntecleer?” 

“Do you want me to use a miracle, sunshine?” Gabriel asked, ignoring the crowd. With a wave of his hand, and before Aziraphale could consider what exactly he’d just asked for, Gabriel miracled his clothes away. The rush of fear to his head, the absolute panic he felt at being cuffed, and collared, and leashed, and now _naked_ , drowned out the response from the demons watching. He nearly felt dizzy, his arms curling up over his chest to provide some coverage. 

A glass shattered; someone had thrown their drink, hitting the side of the platform. Aziraphale jumped back, heart thudding. There seemed to be some sort of commotion with the demons, but Aziraphale couldn’t tell what the issue was. “Gabriel,” he whispered. 

Gabriel fisted the leash and brought them face to face as Aziraphale choked and sputtered and scrambled to grab Gabriel’s wrists to ease him back. “What’s my name?” he asked, and it didn’t seem like a performance. He didn’t seem mad, like Aziraphale would have pretended to be if his fake-prisoner was disobedient. He seemed to think it was very funny. 

“Duke,” Aziraphale gasped out, regardless. “Duke, I’m sorry!” Gabriel dropped him, and he fell onto the dirty, shag rug. His face was right next to the flaking, redbrown stain, but before he could move up and away, Gabriel’s foot, his sharp toes, pressed against Aziraphale’s back and shoulders, keeping him in place. Aziraphale didn’t move or breathe, but he remembered that Gabriel had said he’d have to hurt him a little. This was all part of the plan.

“It’s flat!” the demons were still shouting, and Aziraphale had never once been called flat in his life. In fact, he’d often been accused of being too round, too curved and padded in certain places. Gabriel’s sharp spur hooked into the flesh of his back, and he could help but whine. 

“Come on, it’s smooth!” someone close to the stage said, gesturing violently with their drink and sloshing some out from their glass and hitting the back of Aziraphale’s curls. “What are you going to fuck?” Aziraphale made a sound, the first one he heard himself make actually during this whole ordeal: scandalized, high, and wavering. 

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “What should I make for him?” And Aziraphale was dragged up by his hair, seeing now that the room was packed. The demons by the stage weren’t there just for curiosity, but because there wasn’t anywhere else for them to stand. Gabriel jerked his head back to keep Aziraphale from looking too much at his crowd, reaching to cup his chest and thumb over his nipple. “A little pussy?” 

The crowd must have approved, because Gabriel’s hand trailed down between his legs and cupped his mound. Aziraphale’s breathing was fast and shallow, and he didn’t know why he was breathing, or why he was so lightheaded, when he didn’t need to breathe in the first place. Only he couldn’t stop, just like he couldn’t keep his heart from pounding so viciously that he could feel an ache in his neck and jaw. He was sure Gabriel would have told him if something like this was required—although, would Aziraphale have even agreed to it? Maybe that’s why Gabriel hadn’t asked, because he knew Aziraphale would never have agreed, would have rather been caught and discorporated, and never allowed on earth again. And wasn’t that an overreaction, when all of creation was at stake. If he didn’t let Gabriel, he’d never eat again, or listen to his records, or read a single line of his books. But he wasn’t _letting_ Gabriel.

“I can’t do it,” he said as softly as he could, just so Gabriel would hear and make a new plan. His big, rough hands were slitting him open, forming a hole and all the fleshy bits and nerves that came with it, and Aziraphale couldn’t handle it. “Please, I need to stop.” 

“Did you hear that?” Gabriel shouted, laughing. “He’s asking me to stop.” 

Everyone was laughing at him. “ _Oh, my sweet Gabriel_ ,” someone teased, in a lilting falsetto, “ _Please don’t fuck me!_ ” That set off the rest of the crowd, little constant outbursts: “ _I can’t do it! Please, I need to stop!_ ” 

“Ew, why’d you include pubic hair?” one of the demons asked as Gabriel pulled his hand away, wiping the slick off on Aziraphale’s fluttering chest. 

“Because I like it. When you capture an angel, you can give them a bare little baby pussy,” Gabriel snorted. 

“Oh, come on, let us see!” someone said, and Aziraphle’s head was let go, although he didn’t look at the crowd. He didn’t know where to look, so he kept looking up. The ceiling was high and dark, if there was one at all. There might have been nothing at all above them. 

He wasn’t looking for very long, because Gabriel was soon manhandling him over his knee, which had been raised to brace him. Gabriel was still clothed, and the material of his trousers was smooth and cool against Aziraphale’s belly. His face was against the shag carpet again, his legs dangling toward the crowd, Gabriel nudging his thighs apart and spreading his newly-formed pussy for everyone to see. 

“Look, you’re already wet,” Gabriel praised, running a finger through the slick. Aziraphale carded his fingers through the dirty carpet, and took a breath. “Do you like all the attention, sweetheart?” When they got out of this, he’d never be able to look Gabriel in the eye again. “Look at how pink I made it, how perfect.” Even if this saved their lives, it was too far. “God couldn’t have done a better job, don’t you think?” 

Aziraphale shuddered a breath involuntarily, and part of it was because one of Gabriel’s hands, the one that wasn’t keeping him spread open, dipped down to find his clit, padding over it. Gabriel’s finger, already wet from Aziraphale, rubbed back and forth and then in a circle, and Aziraphale felt his knees shaking, his toes curling, and he shook his head against the rug. 

“Hey, I think he likes it!” Gabriel cheered. There was another sound of breaking glass, someone else having thrown their pint against the platform. This time, the beer—oh, Aziraphale _hoped_ —splashed upwards, getting on Aziraphale’s feet and ankles and thighs. It must have got on Gabriel’s suit as well because he dropped Aziraphale onto his stomach and stood up to brush himself off and berate whoever had done that. 

While Gabriel shouted, Aziraphale curled onto his side. He brought his hands to his mouth and breathed against them, slowly. He didn’t pray, but he wordlessly moved his lips against his skin, and focusing on that feeling was better than listening to Gabriel goad the demons around the drink-thrower into knocking him on the ground and stomping on his throat. Maybe Gabriel could incite a riot, and they could sneak out before it got worse.

Maybe Aziraphale could undo the collar himself and miracle them both away. He pushed up and faced the crowd again, whose attention was mostly on the fight spreading from the back of the room. Slowly, Aziraphale reached up with his cuffed hands and felt for the buckle, trying to get the right angle to undo it. Gabriel caught the movement and flicked his wrist. The buckle disappeared, the collar now a smooth, unbroken circle around his neck.

Aziraphale looked up at him, mouth falling open. He wanted to ask, and he couldn’t, but he couldn’t figure it out on his own. Gabriel looked at him again with that amused sympathy—only Aziraphale was suddenly unsure if the sympathy had ever been real. If he had truly been so lonely, so wanting for a kind thought, that he’d started to read it into Gabriel’s face. But if that were true, what was Aziraphale doing Down Here?

“This slut,” Gabriel said, looking at Aziraphale but talking to the demons, who quieted down just for that moment, “Signed himself over to me because he’s been doing my temptations for a thousand years and finally got his dumb ass caught. He wrote his own name on the collar, and let me put it on him, knowing what it did.” There was some laughing, but mostly a murmur of disbelief. Aziraphale reeled, because he wasn’t certain any longer. Gabriel was telling everyone about the Arrangement, like he didn’t have as much to lose as Aziraphale did.

(It only then occurred to him that Hell might excuse a few good deeds for the spectacle of seeing a very stupid angel walk into Hell on his own free will.)

Aziraphale was pliant while Gabriel moved him around again. He silently, rapidly tried to think back to where he’d gotten so mixed up while Gabriel unzipped his trousers and took his prick out. Gabriel lined up and started pushing inside, and Aziraphale closed his eyes. That wasn’t better, because then all he had to focus on was the now practically screaming hoard and the feeling of being entered. Oh, and he was being entered, and Gabriel was big. Bigger than fingers or toys or human cocks. 

Once inside, Gabriel stayed still for a moment, a hand groping up his side, pinching his hips and belly. He hooked his arm around Aziraphale’s middle and straightened him up, his entire front on display, his weight seating him deeper on Gabriel’s prick. Big hands came back to his chest, squeezing the fat there. Gabriel’s hips stuttered forward, and the look of surprise on Aziraphale’s face brought a roar of laster across the room. 

“They like you,” Gabriel murmured in his ear, these words just for him, although Aziraphale was sure everyone could hear. “Poor angel. Always a burden on the rest of the Host.” He was starting to fuck him, to roll his hips and drive Aziraphale up a little higher on his knees each time. He wasn’t going fast, but it was hard enough that his voice was breathier. “But look at all your new friends.” He pinched Aziraphale’s nipples, and Aziraphale wriggled in his hold, feeling his throat clogging, his eyes getting hot. “Are you sure you don’t want to let one of them touch you? I’d let you pick.” 

“No!” Aziraphale choked out, startling and instinctively moving away. 

“Just me, then?” Gabriel constricted around him, holding him in place and picking up his speed. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help it; he cried out. People had endured worse, but Aziraphale couldn’t feel everything happening in him right then. It would have been too much for the humiliation and hurt and ache to all be inside him at once, and so he looked back up at the ceiling, which he was more certain now was a void. 

“Fuck the angel like a dog!” someone shouted, and then there was an ensuing chant, and Aziraphale felt himself be moved to his bound hands and knees. Gabriel’s hands on his flank, he got fucked— _like a dog, like a dog, like a dog, like a dog_ —in quick, powerful thrusts. 

His arms were shaking, and he didn’t want anyone to see his face, so Aziraphale collapsed onto his elbows, turning away. This catted his hips up, made him look even more whorish, which multiple voices pointed out, and Gabriel took that as a sign to vary it up, reaching around to rub at his clit while he pounded his new, sore hole. Aziraphale was so slick, his sex throbbing, that even the slightest touch made him moan.

“Like a bitch in heat,” Gabriel told him, and Aziraphale started to cry, his shoulder shaking. It didn’t hurt, because Gabriel had made him an accommodating pussy, “Absolutely sluttish, to match you,” and it felt good, and all Aziraphale could do was try to keep his face hidden and sob. 

“Aw, c’mon!” Gabriel teased, smacking him once on the ass, hard enough to sting and make Aziraphale choke on his spit. “What happened to your brave face?” he asked. “Maybe this is all part of _the ruse_!” and he imitated Aziraphale’s fussy, prissy voice, and Aziraphale felt like he might be sick. 

“You hate me,” he whined against his arm. “You _hate_ me.” He couldn’t let himself forget.

“Shh, shh.” Gabriel slowed his pace, and leaned in, covering his back. The change of angle, the change of speed, made everything feel more tender. If there hadn’t been an audience, if the audience hadn’t been jeering and throwing things at the stage, it would have been intimate, like Aziraphale had always thought sex with Gabriel might be. Scary, and intimate. 

“I like you,” Gabriel was murmuring in his ear. “Haven’t I shown that I like you?” His lips were warm, soft against his neck as he kissed him there, and then on his shoulder. He pulled out then and turned Aziraphale around, laying him back on the shag carpet and settling over him, forcing Aziraphale’s legs spread and but not pushing in quite yet. “I could have picked any angel on Earth,” he breathed, and Aziraphale couldn’t hide away anymore, because one of Gabriel’s big hands was cradling his jaw. “You’re the only angelcunt for me, sunshine.” 

Then he moved down and buried his face in Aziraphale’s pussy, making him squeal with shock. Gabriel wrung sound after sound out of him, each more desperate than the last, fucking his firm tongue into his hole, kissing his clitoris whenever he started to get too quiet. All the while, the crowd was getting antsy, another chant of “like a dog” breaking out when it seemed like Gabriel was truly intent on sucking Aziraphale to climax.

Right as he was getting close, Gabriel pulled off, wiping his mouth. He turned Aziraphale back onto his hands and knees, which got a loud cheer, and then reached inside of him, to his core, where the creation that was Aziraphale had been packed into an ethereal form and then a corporeal one. Aziraphale didn’t understand until Gabriel was tugging on his wings, trying to rip them out into the open, and he didn’t have the time or ability to try to stop them from manifesting when Gabriel told them to. 

If the demons had been bad before, they were truly out of control once Aziraphale’s white, downy wings were out, mantling and flapping, frantically trying to fly him away without thought. With how big they were, one stretched off of the stage and into the crowd, and feathers were snatched and clawed before Aziraphale could tear back and protect himself. 

Gabriel spread his pussy from the back and dipped in again, just as Aziraphale was trying to tuck his bloodied wing against his side. When he started tonguefucking him again, Aziraphale’s wings tensed and fluttered, and the demons closest to him laughed, clutching his feathers in their filthy hands, stuffing them into pockets or gnawing at the quills. And when Gabriel moved to hum against his clit, triumphant and cruel, Aziraphale skin prickled and his heart skipped. 

He covered his face when he came. He could still hear the demons cheering. 

Aziraphale wept, and Gabriel straightened up behind him, pushing back in with no resistance. “You’re a fucking whore,” he could hear one of the demons shouting. “You’re a dirty fucking whore.” He could feel Gabriel laughing behind him, but he hugged his wings in tight and tried to block out everything else. Gabriel, of course, got his fingers in the soft feathers and stroked through them, petting and fucking him with ease. 

He then twisted a hand into his wing and tugged out some of the coverts, making Aziraphale shout and jolt. Gabriel groaned, and did it again, tossing the removed feathers at the hoard, who fought over them, pushing each other against the platform and jostling it. Gabriel tried a secondary, which got Aziraphale to bear down and wail, and then a primary, which was by far the best. Aziraphale twisted and squirmed on his cock, vicing around it, fucking himself back and forth as he tried to move away from Gabriel’s reach. 

Blood seeped out, but Gabriel went to the next primary, and then the next, throwing them off the stage. Aziraphale was bucking, trying to save what was left of his wings, and it got unmanageable enough that Gabriel slammed his head forward, knocking it against the carpet hard enough that he felt the wood of the platform underneath. In a daze, Azirahale touched his face, his nose, and found he was bleeding. He groaned and closed his eyes, and Gabriel went back to ripping out his coverts. 

“Should I finish inside him or on his face?” Gabriel asked, although he sounded far away. Aziraphale’s head swam, but everything was a little quieter, except for a ringing in his ears. He didn’t hear the answer, but Gabriel stopped pulling out his feathers and slipped out. He stood and came around the front of him, getting a hand in his curls and holding his head up. “Hey, look at me,” he said, and Aziraphale did, blinking his eyes open just in time to see Gabriel jerking is cock in front of his face, a rope of come hitting over his nose, another glob on his cheek. 

Gabriel kept holding his head up even after he finished, tucking his prick away with his other hand. “You look gross,” he said, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell if Gabriel liked that or not. It didn’t really matter, because he was feeling woozy and his vision was getting cloudy. “Are you gonna pass out on me?” Gabriel laughed. Aziraphale’s heart was thumping in his ears, so loud he thought his eardrum might pop. It was good though, because he couldn’t hear what anyone else said, and he thought he might use the silence to slip away for a moment.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up on a bed, under silk sheets and a heavy comforter. The room decor, when he chanced a look around, was tacky with all the signs needed to suggest it was Gabriel’s room: a _Cats_ poster, two golden mirrors, and even a framed portrait of the demon (probably done around the 1990s). 

Aziraphale’s wings were still out, and his nose was still sore, swollen, and likely broken. Between his legs didn’t bear thinking about, outside of there still being something down there. But he was clean and dry and his wrists had been unshackled. The collar was still on.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Gabriel said, making Aziraphale turn too quickly and give himself headrush. “Took you long enough.” 

“Would you,” he started to ask and then cleared his throat. He felt stuffy and sore there too. “I’d like my clothes, please.” 

“No,” Gabriel said, leaving the doorway to sit on the bed.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale began, his voice pitching up. He cleared his throat once more. “I could wear something of yours?” 

Gabriel snorted. “I don’t think anything of mine will fit you.” 

“But a miracle — ”

“I don’t need you to wear clothes,” Gabriel barreled on. “You can’t tell me it’s cold Down Here.” 

Aziraphale swallowed, trying to find his voice. “You can’t mean to _keep_ me down here.”

“Why not?” Gabriel asked. “Do you think someone is looking for you?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, pressing his hands against his chest. He thought he could feel something dislodged in there: a rib or maybe a lung. It hurt, to be sitting up like that. His next inhale was loud and gasping, and Gabriel scooted closer, an arm circling around his shoulders. Aziraphale was pulled against his chest, cradled there while he shook apart. Aziraphale weakly pawed at him, trying to push away with no success. “Gabriel,” he begged.

“You really have to get used to calling me something else,” Gabriel frowned. “Probably Master at this point, because I own you.” 

“No, I — ” although Aziraphale didn’t know what else to say. 

“I do,” he stated, murmuring the words against his white curls. He put a hand down Aziraphale’s quivering shoulder. “I do own you. And you can be my slave or my pet. Which one do you want? Huh? Do you want to be my slave who I beat and use, or do you want to be my good pet? I can bring you your books and your music. Maybe even a nicer collar. A more comfortable one. You’d have to write your name again, though.” 

Aziraphale shook his head. He stopped trying to scramble away and clutched at Gabriel’s shirt, letting Gabriel embrace him, consuming everything around him. He couldn’t respond, couldn’t form a single word. He just kept shaking his head.

Gabriel pushed him off sharply and stood up, straightening his suit out. “Clearly I can’t talk to you yet. I’ll visit you a little later this week. Give you a bit of time to come to terms with things.” From there, he turned away and walked to the door. He didn’t look back, and Aziraphale didn’t look away as he opened the door and shut it behind him. The door locked with a sharp click.

The collar cut into his neck, and Aziraphale just wanted to breathe easy.

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since i've written straight whump, so it wasn't too awkward. i'm also trying to be a little less persnickety because i really would like to get a couple pieces done for Whumptober, which means there might be even more typos and stuff than usual! sorry! i'll probably get very embarrassed and edit this again in November
> 
> ([Follow me on my professional fanfiction twitter](https://twitter.com/gigglesnortPro) or [just come kick it with me on my tumbly](https://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com))


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